of which Marlborough House was the heart. Sydney
Smith, no mean authority on the social capacities of London, held that
"the parallelogram between Oxford Street, Piccadilly, Regent Street, and
Hyde Park, enclosed more intelligence and ability, to say nothing of
wealth and beauty, than the world had ever collected in such a space
before." This was very well for Sydney (who lived in Green Street); but
he flourished when Belgravia had barely been discovered, when South
Kensington was undreamed-of; and, above all, before the Heir Apparent
had fixed his abode in Pall Mall. Had he lived till 1863, he would have
had to enlarge his mental borders.

Of the delightful women and beautiful girls who adorned Society when I
first knew it, I will not speak. A sacred awe makes me mute. The
"Professional Beauties" and "Frisky Matrons" who disgraced it, have, I
hope, long since repented, and it would be unkind to revive their names.
The "Smart Men," old and young, the "cheery boys," the "dancing
dogs,"--the Hugo Bohuns and the Freddy Du Canes--can be imagined as
easily as described. They were, in the main, very good fellows;
friendly, sociable, and obliging; but their most ardent admirers would
scarcely call them interesting; and the companionship of a club or a
ballroom seemed rather vapid when compared with Oxford:--

"The madness and the melody, the singing youth that went there,
The shining, unforgettable, imperial days we spent there."

But here and there, swimming rare in the vast whirlpool of Society, one
used to encounter remarkable faces. Most remarkable was the face of Lord
Beaconsfield,--past seventy, though nobody knows how much; with his
black-dyed hair in painful contrast to the corpse-like pallor of his
face; with his Blue Ribbon and diamond Star; and the piercing eyes which
still bespoke his unconquerable vitality.

Sometimes Mr. Gladstone was to be seen, with his white tie working round
toward the back of his neck, and a rose in his button-hole, looking like
a rather unwilling captive in the hands of Mrs. Gladstone, who moved
through the social crush with that queenlike dignity of bearing which
had distinguished her ever since the days when she and her sister, Lady
Lyttelton, were "the beautiful Miss Glynnes." Robert Lowe, not yet Lord
Sherbrooke, was a celebrity who might often be seen in Society,--a
noteworthy figure with his ruddy face, snow-white hair, and purblind
gaze. The first Lord Lytton--Bulwe